


Tools of the Trade

by alikuu



Series: Ost-in-Edhil [10]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Annatar being creepy as always, Annatar’s homicidal fantasies, Awkward Flirting, Celebrimbor and Annatar discuss tools, Celebrimbor’s poor life choices, Gen, Gwaith-i-Mírdain, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Flirting, Pre-Slash, Silverfisting, Slice of Life, background OCs - Freeform, elven forge stuff, elven smiths, long conversations, silvergifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 17:36:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18287051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: Soon after being accepted into Ost-in-Edhil, Annatar hits off an uncertain beginning with Celebrimbor.





	Tools of the Trade

**Author's Note:**

> Ttrtru made a brilliant illustration for this fic, which you can see here: https://ttrtru.tumblr.com/post/184439137816/a-fanart-for-alikuus-silvergifting-fanfic-tools

“Ah, Annatar,” Celebrimbor glanced up to greet him, “I’m glad you could make it. Please, take a look around. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

The Maia who called himself Annatar smiled pleasantly and deliberately turned his back to the master smith, making his way to explore the vast elven workshop on his own.

Gwaith-i-Mirdain’s main forge was a long hall, opened to a courtyard where evergreen hollies, pines and hemlocks could be glimpsed. The open-air exposition of the workshop unsettled the Maia. The forges of Angband had been impenetrable places, deep underground, where choking fumes dimmed the scarce red light of booming fires and hissing torches. The orcs and trolls who toiled there had been perpetually sooty, ashes and grime caking their sweaty jerkins and warty skins. In contrast, the smiths of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain appeared vain - dressed in clean, colorful garments under new, laxed aprons and copious amounts of shiny brass protective gear.

The particular craftsman, whom Annatar had come to see, appeared too busy with showing a group of apprentices how to complete a complex soldering joint to notice the show of the Maia’s patience. However, having surmised that Celebrimbor observed him more closely than he let on, Annatar decided to keep up his humble facade and approached a young craftswoman, who was in the process of using an archaic little boll-drill to make a hole in a piece of copper sheet.

The Maia was still too new to the elven guild to know if this was an apprentice or a journeyman. It didn’t take long after he had stopped at her desk for her to notice him and look up from her work to glance at the stranger. Surprise flitted over her smooth features and the momentary distraction caused her hand to slip, which produced an ugly scratch across her otherwise pristine work surface.

“My apologies, lady,” Annatar murmured. “I distracted you.”

The elleth seemed at a loss of words. She gaped at the white-clad Maia with wide eyes and a stupefied expression, which made him want to slap her, just so he could wipe it off her face. Annatar knew that even in the toned-down earthy form, which he had created for himself, the power and magnificence of his kind was plain for incarnate creatures to see. His presence awoke instinctive fear and distrust in them, and it made his mission to gain their trust even harder to achieve. That’s why he had taken painstaking care to create a body that encompassed the most gentle and handsome elven features that he could device, along with a few small, deliberate defects, just so that his form didn’t appear artificial to their keen eyes. Judging by the reactions he kept getting from most of the elves he met, his form was still a little too awe-inspiring for their taste.

“I… apologize... Master Annatar,” the she-elf stuttered, her face flushing with embarrassment.

He smiled at her indulgently, like one would to a child.

“I should be the one to apologize.” Annatar bent down to pick up her tool, which had rolled on the floor. He really hoped Celebrimbor was watching that act of patience and kindness.

The bow drill was a simple rotary tool made of wood and metal that worked by twisting the wooden handle, which in turn twisted a cord that rotated the drill. It had been a very long time since Annatar had held such a primitive instrument. Not since the time when elves first inhabited Valinor and it had fallen to Mairon to teach them how to use such toys in Aule’s forges.

“I feel like the least I should do is fix this for you, since I was the one who caused you to damage it,” the Maia offered.

He didn’t wait for the startled lady-smith to answer and slid onto the bench beside her, facing the worktable. The elleth allowed him to pick up her project and inspect it. A small smile tugged at Annatar’s lips as he examined the quaint little design she was attempting to cut from the copper. It was a leaf and a flower. How utterly, boringly elven, he thought.

She was an apprentice for certain, the Maia surmised, judging her design and the work she had done so far. With two precise movements of his hands, he made the bow-drill spin, cutting a clean hole in the metal. He then put the tool aside and reached for the sanding paper on the other side of the desk.

“It wouldn’t do to leave this here,” Annatar smiled at her while sanding the metal with practiced ease until the scratch had disappeared as if it had never been there.

The pleasure he felt in that small task caught him by surprise. He had never missed his work as a teacher once he had left Aman. Yet the satisfaction he got from showing this young creature how to complete her little project was surprisingly fulfilling.

Celebrimbor had come to stand behind him at some point during the exchange, and it appeared that he was waiting for the right moment to tear Annatar away. The Maia didn’t need to have his physical eyes turned on the elf to scrutinise him. He could gleam enough from the fast, strong rhythm of the master smith’s heartbeat, his quiet, excitable breathing and the squeak of leather and rustle of cloth, which gave away a measure of impatience.

Annatar examined the metal he had just sanded, giving Celebrimbor plenty of time to engage him. A small smile of amusement threatened to appear on his lips when Feanor’s grandson too long to make up his mind. The elf’s heart-rate picked up its pace before Celebrimbor cleared his throat in a rather inelegant request for attention.

“Hmm,” Annatar turned back and gave the head of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain a sweet and falsely distracted look.

“I can see that you are occupied,” Celebrimbor smiled a little with a trace of emotion that the Maia was unable to identify. “I could come back a little later,” Celebrimbor gestured behind his shoulder, as if to imply that he could be elsewhere.

Annatar couldn’t allow this elf to prance away so he rose from his seat without delay.

“I believe we are done here,” he said and smiled graciously at the eleth he had assisted. She didn’t have the decency to look grateful - instead she lookemortified, as if he hadn’t helped her finish her project but embarrassed her instead. The Maia hid his irritation well. Some days he just wanted to incinerate all the incarnates of the world...

“I am sorry for keeping him, Master Celebrimbor,” the apprentice apologised.

The master smith waved her concern away, but he apologised to the Maia as well when he had taken him were a little distance away.

“I’m sorry she kept you,” Celebrimbor repeated needlessly. He lead Annatar further into the workshop amongst busy crafters who looked up from their projects to glance at the magnificent pair they made.

Slowly the Maia’s wrath began to subside. He supposed that these creatures’ innate sense of pecking order, coupled with the esteem he projected, had made the apprentice so uncomfortable with his attention. Rank was another thing he had to calculate when engaging in the tedious social exchanges of the elves.

“It’s not her fault that she made a mistake,” Annatar offered, estimating that a generous response was due. “The screw-bow she used is not the most reliable of tools.”

“That’s true,” Celebrimbor held his eyes very briefly before he looked away, outwardly turning his attention to the workshop. “I’m glad to see you getting to know our apprentices and our methods. I don’t know how learning is conducted in Valinor, but here we believe in teaching our students the ancient methods as well as the modern ones.”

The Maia nodded, but offered no other response. He waited as Celebrimbor took his time to voice the protest, which Annatar had anticipated.

“I suppose I’m not getting an answer to that question,” the elf stated evenly, pausing in the middle of an isle to look at Annatar.

“I didn’t hear a question,” the Maia challenged, raising an eyebrow and smiling ever so slightly with the corner of his mouth.

Celebrimbor’s eyes widened just a bit. They were grey, the same color as his uncle’s, Annatar reminisced. Regardless of their colour, Celebrimbor’s eyes didn’t stay long, but turned away and skimmed over the workshop, as if considering something until they turned to Annatar once again. There was that odd flicker again, of an emotion that the Maia still couldn’t quite identify.

“Let me show you something,” the elf offered and his voice held just enough restrained smugness for Annatar to add self-satisfaction to the long mental list of possible emotions that could be behind the strange way Feanor’s heir looked at him.

Celebrimbor lead the way through the forge and Annatar followed, watching the elf’s back as the latter glided through familiar surroundings. Celebrimbor was tall and well-formed. His long limbs moved through the crowded space with a display of subtle elegance and strength. His spatial coordination and reflexes were functioning properly, the Maia surmised just as his host avoided getting hit by metal debris when another elf’s project exploded on a workbench nearby. Indeed, Celebrimbor was an elf in prime health with no physical defects or sustaining injuries that the Maia could gleam. Also one, who felt perfectly at home in the workshops - those were evidently his domain.

Annatar paid no mind to the commotion resulting from the apprentice who had tried to solder a bail on a hollow silver sphere, miraculously without injuring anyone. Neither did he pay attention to the couple of smiths, who tried to get Celebrimbor’s attention, stopping him for exchanges of words. Those his host kept brief, possibly due to respect for Annatar’s time. The Maia gave cordial smiles to anyone who met his eyes. One or two of them actually smiled back, and he counted that as a success.

Finally the pair alighted to a sturdy wooden bench, secured with metal bolts to a stone wall. On it a roll of simple pedal-driven drills of various sizes were fastened. Celebrimbor pulled a stool to the smallest one and beckoned his guest to come over.

“Please observe,” Celebrimbor said, sweeping a piece of scrap brass from the wooden surface and positioning it under the drill’s tiny tip, before lowering the tip and pedaling to make it spin. Annatar was mildly impressed by the mechanism that accelerated the elf’s efforts and smoothed the work to a constant velocity of an adequate magnitude.

The Maia listened as the craftsman’s breathing come to a stop when he lowered the machine’s arm and drilled a precise, little hole in the metal sheet. The smith then let out a barely perceivable sigh of satisfaction and pushed the machine back up, resuming his normal breathing and presenting Annatar with the small piece of metal. Static electricity cracked between their fingertips when they brushed during the exchange. Celebrimbor let out a tiny startled gasp, rubbing his fingertips together, as if to erase the sensation. The Maia had felt no pain, nor any sensation worth mentioning, but he went through the effort of subtly adjusting his body’s electric charge to match the elf’s all the same.

Annatar made a point of raising the hole to his eye level to demonstrate that he had seen it.

“This indeed is an improvement,” he praised before turning to Celebrimbor, who had lowered his head and wasn’t meeting his eyes.

“Here, why don’t you give it a try,” Celebrimbor got up and offered the stool to the Maia.

The drills Annatar was used to were ones powered by coal and steam machines. It was a beneath him to pretend to be impressed by a pedaling toy, however appearances had to be maintained.

“Very well,” he agreed and sat down straightening his back to perfect poise. The intensity with which Celebrimbor watched him was almost worth the effort. The master smith was cataloguing every part of him, judging every movement that he made, watching him for anything that might give something away.

No matter what Celebrimbor thought, such close scrutiny was a chance for Annatar to put on a show and blow him away.

The Maia took a hold of the machine arm and positioned the same piece of scrap metal under the tip. He noticed that the machine’s arm was stable and well balanced as he moved it with a smooth motion down to drill a hole. Then with speed and precision impossible for any incarnate to achieve, he made a string of holes, one after the other, so close and so even that they appeared nearly like a line. He continued drilling without a pause until an intricate filigree began to form on the previously unsightly brass surface.

Annatar noted the fascination with which his host examined his work once Annatar offered the piece back. Celebrimbor’s eye darted over the design that he had punctured, searching for an imperfection and finding none. The Maia had even found a way to include Celebrimbor’s original hole into his filigree in a seamless manner and had followed the awkward edges of the piece of scrap, making them look elegant and deliberate.

“You have a good hand,” Celebrimbor praised and the Maia lowered his head in a gesture mirroring the demure one, which the elf had demonstrated earlier.

“You are too kind, my lord,” Annatar said, feeling a little spark of excitement despite how sparing Celebrimbor was being with his praises. If the elf wanted to play hard to get, it only made things more interesting.

“I am not your lord and you don’t have to address me as such,” Celebrimbor’s hand made an aborted gesture towards him, as if he had intended to touch Annatar’s shoulder, but reconsidered it.

“How then should I address my gracious host,” the Maia inquired humbly, following the master smith down the aisle towards other contraptions.

“Celebrimbor would do,” the elf flashed him a smile and lead on. “I am little more than a craftsman and there is little need for formality here.”

The Maia decided that to be an understatement. This elf was striking among his kind. Other elves either subtly moved out of Celebrimbor’s way when he passed or vied for his attention. Celebrimbor had their respect and admiration, and Annatar wasn’t yet sure if that humbled demeanor was false - some kind of political game that the elf played - or if Feanor’s grandson truly didn’t realize his own potential.

When Celebrimbor stopped, it was beside a wire drawing plate. It was fastened to the bench with a clamp and a pace away a pair of draw tongues were secured to a hand-crank reel. A little condescending smile formed at the corner of the Maia’s lips, but he banished it momentarily. In Angband no one would have even thought about such a contraption. Why ease the work of thralls or dumb creatures like the orcs? Clearly the elves had gotten lazy and came up with all sorts of ways to make their lives easier.

“It may not be pretty, but it’s rather useful and it keeps the apprentices happy,” Celebrimbor patted the handle of the reel. “It’s so easy to pull wire with this that even a child could do it.”

“I imagine it reduces the effort considerably,” Annatar offered kindly.

To demonstrate, Celebrimbor used it to pull a thick wire through a succession of ever smaller holes, rolling the reel quickly and with only one hand. Annatar wasn’t sure what the elf was showing off - the ingenuity of the machine or his own stamina.

“Looks effortless indeed,” the Maia commented once the elf finished the task and looked at him expectantly. He refused to be impressed by something as simple as the work of muscle and a pulley.

“Do you have similar things in Aman,” Celebrimbor inquired while casually removing his leather waistcoat and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt.

The elf’s body temperature was up by only a few fractions of a degree, so the Maia wasn’t certain if the task warranted the shedding of clothing. Perhaps the elf was trying to show off his powerful forearms in a display of dominance, Annatar assumed.

“In Aman we do these things the way they have been done for eons,” Annatar divulged, trying to appear and sound as submissive as he could manage without making himself sick. “Sadly, no one thinks of progress where all resources are unlimited and time is not of the essence.”

Celebrimbor looked a little disappointed by his answer, but his body language didn’t change. He still appeared to be puffing his shoulders out and raising his chin as if in challenge to the Maria’s words and demeanor.

“Perhaps you wonder why I have come to you if that is the case,” Annatar continued carefully, weighing every subtle note of his tone before speaking, making the quality of his voice as sacrosanct as it could be. “I have always had my mind turned to Middle Earth and it’s problems. For some time I have been researching the notion of automatic labor through steam-powered engines to ease the burdens of the population here.”

That statement seemed to elicit the curiosity of the master smith. Despite Annatar’s efforts, Celebrimbor’s head tilted to the side and his eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“We certainly wouldn’t turn down a demonstration of the devices you speak of,” the elf answered a little warily.

It was as good an opening as Annatar could have hoped for. All that remained was not to appear forceful and to wait for the right moment to present itself to proceed to the next stage of his plan.

“In that case I shall prepare one,” Annatar offered humbly, accompanying the words with a small bow. With that courtesy done, his objective of the day was completed and his mind begun to turn towards making an exit.

“Do let me know,” Celebrimbor smiled slightly, and again there was that little spark in his eye - almost like playful teasing.

Was it mockery then? Had he been laying out his facades too thick? Was it possible that Celebrimbor had seen through his veneer and was ridiculing him the entire time?

Carefully Annatar kept his impassivity while he waited for the elf to make the next move.

“Shall I show you one of my own inventions,” Celebrimbor offered.

No, the Maia decided, the elf hadn’t seen through his facade. Whatever was going on was something else entirely.

“I’d be most curious to see it,” Annatar agreed, perhaps a touch too enthusiastically. That last beat had come off wrong, but Celebrimbor didn’t seem to notice.

Annatar followed his host through the workshop, traversing the large hall yet again. The Maia’s eyes slid over Celebrimbor’s back once more, noting the lustrous black hair that fell to the middle of the smith’s shoulder blades. The shirt Celebrimbor wore was tucked into a fitted pair of trousers, that outlined a firm behind and a pair of long legs. Annatar supposed that Feanor’s grandson would be considered attractive by his kind. Strangely, Celebrimbor had remained unmarried and that posed another riddle for the Maia to solve.

Perhaps a lack of interest in the messy, irrational impulses of love, or a lack of time for such, Annatar supposed as he watched Celebrimbor align with a desk upon which an interesting machine was stationed. With one glance the Maia could tell that this at least, was going to be good.

“Have you seen anything like this,” Celebrimbor challenged and Annatar looked at the machine with all his senses to gauge its usefulness. There were a pair of moving magnets, a tank of sooty water, full of metal debris and various trace elements. Another pedaling mechanism protruded from both sides to allow two people to simultaneously work the mechanism to activate the machine’s function.

“Is it some kind of a tumbling machine,” Annatar ventured a guess and Celebrimbor smiled indulgently as he produced the small piece of brass, which Annatar had punctured not long ago.

The Maia had to stop himself from glaring too hard. He hadn’t noticed Celebrimbor pocketing the piece. Such a lapse of attention was highly unusual for him. It made him distinctly uncomfortable to know that he had made a mistake.

“Close enough,” his host answered his earlier question, “it’s a polishing machine for jewelry and small metal pieces, which works similarly to a tumbling machine for stones.”

Celebrimbor dipped his hand into the cloudy grey water of the tank and brought out its contents, which turned out to be tiny steel needles.

“Under the tank there are two magnets, which spin in opposite directions when two people pedal the mechanism,” the elf explained. “As they spin, the needles in the water follow and polish whatever’s inside. Do you want to see how it works?”

Annatar nodded and the smith dropped the brass piece into the tank, together with the needles he had fished out. He motioned for Annatar to approach.

”I will need your assistance,” Celebrimbor smiled a little contritely as he placed his foot on the pedal on the opposite side from Annatar. Without needing to be told twice, the Maia took his position on his side of the table and waited for the elf to begin pedaling.

“You don’t have to push too hard or go too fast,” Celebrimbor explained as he gently begun rolling his own side. Annatar didn’t miss a beat and matched his pace and effort seamlessly.

The magnets inside the machine were spinning in perfect harmony and with them the needles came alive, twirling inside the container like a swarm of black insects.

“That’s good,” Celebrimbor commented, his eyes trained on Annatar’s as he worked in turn to synchronize with the Maia’s perfectly rhythmic pedaling, “We have to keep it up for a few minutes, so don’t rush. No point to tire yourself out.”

Annatar stared right back at him. It was strange but he found himself slowing down or speeding up by a tiny fraction every time the elf’s movements did so. It was almost as if a strange connection of the minds had been established through their eyes, which allowed their bodies to move as one. Finding it bemusing, the Maia decided to test that theory and sped up his rhythm, watching as the elf tried to synchronize his pace.

“Slow down a bit,” Celebrimbor complained and Annatar eased the speed for a just a moment, allowing the elf to catch up. The Maia kept looking into the smith’s eyes, watching him carefully for any changes.

About a minute passed and Celebrimbor smiled and looked away. A small flush was forming on his features and Annatar wondered if it was the exertion or something else.

“I wonder what would happen if someone puts their hand in there while the mechanism works,” Annatar asked when the silence between them stretched.

Celebrimbor blinked rapidly at him with a look of confusion so profound that his entire face seemed to change. 

“Nothing good,” a frown tugged at the corners of Celebrimbor’s mouth and even his eyes seemed to close off. “Let’s hope we never find out.”

“I was just wondering about safety,” Annatar reassured, sensing that he had made a mistake.

“That’s a very good concern,” Celebrimbor nodded gravely, although that same old spark in his gaze was back when he added, “I will think on how to make this rotation polisher safer. Maybe a sign ‘no hands in the tank’ would do the trick?”

Annatar wondered if the elf was actually being serious, but then he saw the little smirk Celebrimbor was not really hiding. The anger it sparked was nearly irrational. Perhaps he would have to test the effect of the machine by dunking that audacious elf's face in the tank one day.

Outwardly he feigned a good-natured laugh and Celebrimbor joined in, laughing louder than the Maia. Annatar's laugh subsided to a low chuckle. He was definitely going to kill that elf.

"Is it perhaps ready," he asked, eager to finalize the encounter and take his leave, so that he could seethe in private.

”It should be,” Celebrated answered and his manner was a lot less stiff than before. Annatar took note of the ease in the smith’s movements and manner when he stepped off the pedal and motioned for his guest to do the same.

Humour appeared to be one way to lower that one’s guard, Annatar concluded. In the end that conversation had turned out to be not a complete waste of time.

Celebrimbor waited for the spinning inside the tank to draw nearly to an end and fished out the brass piece with his bare hand. He took out it out of the murky water and opened his fist to a handful of needles and a very shiny, perfectly polished piece of brass. The polish was so smooth and so even, the yellow metal shone almost like gold.

The Maia was impressed, despite his best efforts to remain impassive.

”Well?” the inventor prompted.

”Quite a useful machine,” Annatar praised sincerely, even as it come from between his closed teeth. He really didn’t want to be impressed, but now, looking at Celebrimbor again, he saw more than just another dumb bag of biological reactions wasting energy with its meager existence. That elf had potential.

”I still maintain that it could be improved through the use of steam engines,” the Maia added, almost to himself but to his surprise Celebrimbor smiled at those words.

”Then I’d like it if you show me some designs,” he said. “Let me see how you would improve this invention. If it works we could start upgrading the others as well.”

As if there could ever be a doubt about his skill...

”I will prepare the designs,” the Maia answered humbly and made a show of submission with a bow. 

That seemed to please his host more than enough and soon Annatar was on his way out of the main workshop, but not before enduring a string of parting words without which Celebrimbor didn’t let him leave.

On his way out the Maia who called himself Annatar swept the forges with one last calculating gaze, taking in everything to the smallest detail - the elves who worked there, the various tools they used and the creations that were on the way. 

Hammers and pincers were among the most benign instruments that could make one scream if handled incorrectly, Annatar concluded as he thought back on the smirks the proud leader of that shoddy assembly had worn through their talk.

But there was time, still there was so much time, and the Maia had to learn to put up with the many indignities that his role as the demure servant of the Valar sent to aid the elves lent him. 

In the meantime he was going to show Celebrimbor the very meaning of invention and progress. At the very least, the elf showed enough promise to be able to appreciate it.

It was possible that his time among the elves could not be as bad as he anticipated. And even if it turned out to be exactly as he had envisioned it - stagnating and tedious, he was nothing if not resilient. One way or another Annatar would achieve his goal, and nothing, nor anyone, would stand in his way.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The illustration in this story is by Ttrtru. Check out her tumblr for more cute art: ttrtru.tumblr.com


End file.
